A Hazard To Myself
by Jac Danvers
Summary: Lavender Brown may have avoided her boggart in Defense Against the Dark Arts Class. That doesn't mean she never had to face it. With a little help from Seamus, she might just be able to. For Taragh McCarthy's Boggart Challenge at HPFFC.


**Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to the absolutely wonderful JK Rowling. Not me! Title taken from the song by P!nk. **

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><p>"Neville, my friend," Dean said with gusto, throwing an arm across the other boy's back. "You are a true wizarding hero. For all of us students… nay! For all those who have ever walked these hallowed halls of Hogwarts, I promise your name shall be known and your deeds shall be remembered. For <strong>you, <strong>my friend, put Snape in a dress. And that… **that** may be the single most hysterical thing I shall ever see in my life!"

The melodramatic monologue ceased with a flourish. In front of me, Neville stopped dead in his tracks, turned, and stared at Dean as if he'd gone mental. And honestly, at that moment, I was pretty convinced he had. Seamus came up on Neville's other side, shared a look with Dean, and the two dunderheads broke into hysterics, leaving Parvati and myself to role our eyes at their stupidity. Still, I couldn't help but crack a smile, though my glossed lips never parted to reveal it to the boys. After the last half hour, I needed the laugh.

Defense Against the Dark Arts class had probably been the most terrifying, most interesting, and probably the most useful class of my three year at Hogwarts. Despite not being as easy on the eyes as Gilderoy Lockhart, it was clear that Professor Lupin was going to make sure we were ready to face danger head on. But all that ended half an hour into the lesson, when he faced his own boggart, a golden, floating globe that illuminated the room, and rushed us all out of the classroom.

Not that we were complaining about the early dismissal, mind you. Parvati had received the newest issue of Young Witch's Weekly earlier this morning, and I was itching to get my hands on the free poster of the Weird Sisters so we could hang it on the wall between our beds.

"I can't help it! Snape is terrifying!" Neville exclaimed, turning beat red in embarrassment. He was a sweetheart, but awkward and gawky, and I felt bad that the boys were always taking the mickey out on him. It was all in good fun, and I hoped he didn't take it to heart.

"Believe me, we all know that mate," Seamus spoke up quickly in reassurance and I felt my heart start to race. It was one of the things I liked most about Shea- he didn't have a mean bone in his body. He teased and made jokes, but at the end of the day, he was always on your side. "At least that's a legitimate fear, not like somebody-we-know's disembodied hand."

"Hey!" Dean said defensively. "That's legitimate! Haven't any of you ever seen the Addam's Family? Thing? _It crawls around!_"

We all stared at him blankly, and he threw his hands in the air with a sigh. "Of course… this is what I get for being raised a muggle."

"Hey Lav, we never got to see your boggart!" Parvati exclaimed, as if she divinated some grand revelation.

I shrugged my shoulders, trying to act nonchalant but really masking a shudder. Monsters in the closet? That got an entirely new definition last summer, helping Grandmum clean out my grandfather's wardrobe after his death. I thought I knew what my greatest fear was- snakes, I was prepared for snakes- but the shape-shifting beast knew something much deeper about me, something I never wanted to consciously realize. And even knowing what would be coming in class, I was terrified of facing it again.

I couldn't face it again.

"Neither did Hermione or Harry," I replied, trying to remain my cheerful self. "It's not the end of the world."

"But aren't you curious?" Neville asked.

"Why would she be?" Seamus turned around, walking backwards to look at me and Parvati. I raised an eyebrow, daring him to continue. "We all know it'd be Lavender with grey hair. Old. Mismatched clothes."

I felt my stomach drop, unable to believe what I was hearing. This was Seamus. My friend. My bloody crush. Did he really think that little of me? So much for no mean bones. "What are you trying to say Finnegan?" I nearly growled, shocking myself.

"Your greatest fear is being ugly!"

SLAP.

With one quick swipe of my hand across his face, I grabbed Parvati by the elbow and stormed toward the Gryffindor common room. I was struggling to keep tears from streaming down my face_. Like he would know. Like he would understand anything,_ _the prat,_ I thought to myself.

"What I do?" I heard Seamus shout behind me.

I didn't respond. Let the arse figure that one out himself.

OOO

**Ten Years Later**

"Laaaaaaaaaaav," I heard Seamus shout up two flights of stairs from the ground floor of my grandmum's home, making me jump. The sudden movement sent a pile of dust bunnies flying into the air. _Oh dear Merlin,_ I sighed. To answer or not to answer? That was the question. "Laaaaaaaaav!"

"What Shea?" I called back, trying to hold back a sneeze.

"What do you want to do with this vase?"

Oh yes, because clearly I knew exactly which one of the _dozens _of vases in the house he was speaking of.

My grandmum was a fighter- survived two wizarding wars, the two great muggle wards of the twentieth century, and the death of her only son (my dad) at the hands of the Death Eaters just days before the Battle of Hogwarts. She was my own personal nurse during my recovery from Greyback's attack. Independent to the last, she lived alone after my grandpa's death and never allowed me to stop by and "coddle her," as she called it, more than one or two times a week. But time catches up with everyone, and this spring she'd finally passed away at the ripe old age of ninety-six.

As the only surviving member of my family, I was left to sort through almost a century worth of belongs- maybe even more, considering Grandmum was a bit of a hoarder. It was quite the project, but every item brought back memories of happy times, in more ways than one.

Greyback had been… well, brutal wouldn't begin to describe it. My face was essentially a giant scar, and my neck and chest were pretty well mangled. A good chunk of my left ear was gone too, which had led George Weasley to declare we were starting a new trend and create _Ear-b-gone_ [**MAGICALLY MASK YOUR EARS!** – the adverts cried, sending dozens of mothers into convulsions trying to figure out how in the world their child was maimed]. Then the balcony fall- that had brought its own set of challenges to overcome. Three broken ribs, a torn Achilles' tendon, and a crushed ankle that left me with a limp.

But worst of all was the memory loss. Not full blown amnesia, but the fall from the balcony had most definitely jarred my brain. Most of the time, I didn't realize the memories was missing. But sometimes I'd see a name, or enter a building, or even just a date written on a slip of paper. The frustration of recognizing it, but not _truly _knowing it- that was the hardest to deal with.

"LAAAAAAV!" Shea's familiar Irish brogue pulled me from me from my thoughts.

"Is it the floral or the malachite?" I called back down to Shea.

"MALA-WHO?"

_Lazy arse…_ I thought, though really I should have known better. Stomping down the stairs, my steps uneven thanks to the limp, I crossed my arms across my chest and glared at him. "Is it green, Finnegan?"

"Yes," he said quietly, having the decency to look shamed at dragging me downstairs.

"Padma wanted that one. Thought Blaise might appreciate having a little Slytherin green around the house. Can you box it for her?" I asked with a smile. He nodded, climbing over the wall of boxes we assembled over the past week.

Shea had really been a God-send the past couple of years. We'd had our share of arguments as kids, but the past few years had absolutely sealed our friendship. During our seventh year, in our hideout in the Room of Requirements, we were constant companions- standing guard, taunting the Carrows together, taking the harshest of punishments for one another. After the battle, he and Parvati took rotating shifts at my bedside, keeping me sane during the long hours of recovery, keeping a mirror out of my hands so I wouldn't know the extent of the damage.

When the healers and Gram [but mostly Gram, as she lorded over my healers with an iron fist] had deemed me healthy enough to be out on my own again, it was Shea who suggested moving in together. Living in his flat had apparently become a right of passage among our friends- first Parvati, because he was close enough to St. Mungos to visit me and Padma, then Dean, who was working as an artist for the Daily Prophet, even Luna for a short time while her home was being repaired. I was the last to move in and… well, I just never left. We got along splendidly, with one exception.

Believe me, living with Shea did little to stop the crush I'd harbored on him since childhood. Or hinder the all-out love I'd felt for him since our seventh year. If I was hoping that spending twenty-four hours a day surrounded by his annoying habits would crush those silly dreams, that plan was a complete failure. Still, I never said anything. I was hesitant to admit my feelings before the battle, and my scars made me avoid the subject of love like the plague.

We were two schoolmates living together, nothing more.

"Need a hand upstairs?" Seamus asked as I made my way back upstairs.

I shook my head, giving him my best smile. "I think I can handle it Finnegan. Just going to go through Gramps' old wardrobe."

He gave me a mock salute, and I headed back upstairs.

OOO

As I stared at the old chestnut wardrobe, I was filled with an odd sense of foreboding. There was no reason for it. Since my grandfather's death, just before my third year at Hogwarts, the large piece of furniture hadn't been used. If it was storing anything other than dust and mothballs, it was something Grandmum could live without.

_Peculiar, _I mused, running my hand over intricate woodwork. Swirled designs, some worn past the dark glaze to reveal the original grain of the wood, cascaded across the front panels. Vaguely, I heard something _clink _at the back of the wardrobe, falling down from a shelf.

Was this another missing memory?

_Stop letting it get to you, Lav_, I reminded myself. It wasn't healthy, getting upset every time I discovered I forgot something. People had paid a much worse price than amnesia during the final battle.

Taking a deep breathe, I opened the wardrobe…

…and promptly felt myself getting tossed across the room as a gust of wind swept out of the closet. My head collided with the wall sharply, leaving me dazed and breathless. Shaking it off, I stood and found myself staring at Parvati.

"Lav? You alright?" I heard Seamus call from downstairs.

"Parv? What the hell? Is this some kind of joke?" I asked in disbelief, ignoring Shea's shouts. Seriously, the girl had to be drunk if she had apparated into my grandfather's wardrobe. And Parvati Patil was not the type to be drunk mid-day on a Sunday.

Stepping away from the wardrobe, she circled me, pacing slowly. Her dark hair fell in her face as she looked me up and down. No words, no smile, not even the decency to look me in the eyes. _What the hell?_ I repeated in my head.

"Parvati?"

She stopped in front of me. "Poor little scarred girl," she said, voice dripping with disdain. "Stuck in bed, crying her eyes out over her lost beauty. Wants the whole world to bend over backwards cause she's got a few scars and walks with a limp. Padma lost her arm during the battle, but did she beg the whole world for pity? No… not like Lavender Brown."

The words stung, worse than I could have imagined, and I clenched my eyes shut wanting to block out the horrible thoughts they brought upon me.

At Hogwarts, I'd lived in the shadow of reputation. It didn't matter that I was loyal and brave enough to be placed in Gryffindor. People only saw pretty Lavender. Shallow Lavender. Lavender, who wanted all the boys to love her. And there was a part of me that was pretty, shallow, boy-crazy Lavender, who played into the rumors of being a bimbo. But deep down, I was absolutely frightened I'd never get credit for being an intelligent human being, who was capable of compassion and being a damn good friend.

Then the war came, and perception changed. I was rebellious Lavender, strategic Lavender, loyal and true and probably given way too much credit for bravery thanks to my wounds. For a second I thought I would be seen the way I wanted to be seen: a balanced human being, who had some faults like vanity, but who tried to be good. But the wounds were my downfall, my own personal stigmata.

"She was such a beautiful girl… shame it was all lost…" The whispers were too much, the pity overbearing. Did they really think I wanted their pity?

Did they really think I was useless because my looks were gone?

It terrified me more than I cared to admit.

_Terrified… _

Bloody hell.

The boggart.

I opened my eyes again, and found myself looking in a mirror. It had taken my form, before the Battle of Hogwarts. I was beautiful again.

"It's a real shame, Lav," I heard my voice say, although it was slightly deeper and a bit more raspy. It seemed the boggart couldn't capture me quite perfectly. Still, I couldn't overcome the shock of seeing my uninjured self standing before me. "You were such a pretty girl. Too bad that's all you had to offer."

Another sting.

"And you always wanted people to take you seriously. Well guess what? It'll never happen. Too flighty to get respect at Hogwarts. Now you're a living reminder of what everyone wants to forget. They look at you, and they see their dead family and friends. So they pat you on the head, and pity the loss of a pretty girl, and one day they'll get sick of the memories and send you away so they never have to look at you again."

"They… they wouldn't do that!" I managed to gasp out, feeling the tears well up behind my eyes.

_Pull yourself together girl, _my brain was screaming, but the insults were wriggling their way under my skin. How could I have forgotten the boggart? The boggart that, just after Grandpa died, spent an hour insisting I was a stupid girl that no one could ever truly love. That played on my fears of forever being seen as a pretty face with nothing to offer.

Why did I have to experience this pain twice? Hadn't I gone through enough?

"You think? Don't you ever wonder how much longer Seamus will you freeload off him? Don't you wonder if he's counting down the days, waiting for you to get the hell out of his life so he can have a chance to find a nice girl, a pretty girl to bring home."

And that one hurt the most of all. Because I loved him, and I knew he'd never see me as more than a friend. I'd known it subconsciously before the war, but the scars had sealed the deal. He deserved so much more.

"He… he'd tell me if he wanted me to leave," I stuttered, my mind recognizing I was arguing with a boggart, but my emotions too broken to draw my wand and take care of the beast. Tears were streaming down my face as every childhood and adult insecurity was systematically thrown back in my face.

"Ever cross your mind that he's just being polite? Saving face so it doesn't look like he threw out the poor war victim?" the boggart asked.

"Lav, are you alright?" I heard Shea's footsteps out in the hallway. "I thought I hear- bloody hell, there's two of you!"

"Aw, poor little Lavender. Look who can't save herself again. Always dependent on others to save her."

Seamus looked confused, but he turned to the boggart and said the words I needed to hear. "Oi! Lav's the strongest person I know. Bugger off!"

His words knocked me out of my stupor. I would _not _let this thing get the best of me. If Greyback couldn't break me, a boggart didn't stand a chance. Grabbing my wand out of my pocket, I pointed it, hands trembling. "RIDDIKULUS!"

Smoke filled the room, causing Shea and I to start coughing. I doubled over, having a hard time catching my breath. "You alright?" I heard him ask, standing close to me. He wrapped an arm around my waist, helping me stand again.

"I'm alright, I'm alright," I insisted, hoping the tears would disappear before he could get a good look at my face.

When the smoke cleared, I saw the boggart was trapped in a picture frame, still dressed as me. Boggart me was scarred, limping… and running from a massive crowd men who had apparently formed a fan club in my honor and were desperate for my autograph. I laughed, not just at the ridiculousness, but at how much my twelve year old self would have loved a personal pack of men.

I felt a hand touch my shoulder. "Boggart?" he asked, pushing my hair out of my face.

I nodded, wiping the last of my tears off my face as I blushed. "Brought back some rather unpleasant memories."

"But you never saw your boggart in class," he said, brow furrowing as he thought back to our third year. "When did you—"

"The summer before. It was… brutal. Played on a lot of my insecurities."

He laughed, but not in a mean way. "Back then, I couldn't even imagine you being afraid of anything. You knew what you wanted, and you always got it." I smiled softly at his words. I didn't care if he was just saying them to make me feel better, but deep down I knew he was being genuine.

"I heard what it said," he said suddenly. "When I was coming up the stairs, I heard what it said."

_Oh no_, I groaned internally. A part of me still feared that he thought I was taking advantage of him, that I was holding him back.

"I… well… I wanted…" he managed to sputter out, before taking a deep breath. "Lav, do you know the real reason I asked you to stay with me?" I shook my head no, and his face turned a flaming shade of red as he searched for the right words.

"Bollocks, this is going to sound really, really stupid. But I was kind of hoping… well, I've sort of been in love with you since seventh year, but I didn't know how to bring it up." Now that he'd started, he couldn't stop rambling. "And I wasn't sure, with everything that happened, if you'd even still be interested in me. Not that I thought you were interested me in the first place, but I kind of hoped…"

"Merlin's beard, Seamus, you couldn't just ask me out like a normal wizard?" I burst out, grinning. I hadn't been expecting a declaration of love. Maybe just a "Hey, don't worry, I'm not kicking you out."

But I'd take the declaration too.

"That's not a no," he replied with a smirk.

"It's not a yes either," I shot back, rubbing my eyes once more to make sure the tears were gone.

"So what do I need to do to make it a yes?" he asked, giving me puppy dog eyes.

I thought for a second. "You can start by cleaning out that wardrobe." I moved to the center of the room, picking up the boggart-turned-photograph. "I'm going to go burn this. Or something equally heinous."

And though I discovered that day that boggarts don't burn (they are, however, handily disposed in a garbage bag), I found something more important. I was bigger than my insecurities. They'd never really go away- who wasn't a little insecure about _something_- but they wouldn't control me.

Never again.

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><p><strong>Well I definitely started this story with a plan. Not sure I'm terribly thrilled with the outcome. Feedback and constructive criticism would be greatly appreciated [especially if you think the last part was rushed, I have this horrible feeling it is!]. I may come back to edit this in the future, but I wanted to have it up in time for the competition.<strong>

**Hope you enjoyed, and please let me know what you think! **


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